


Make Me Feel Like Someone Else

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, I just really like these two, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“You remembered my name.” And it’s that simple little statement that has Fort Max’s crimson optics go wide and his helm tilt a little to the side. As though he can’t understand how someone could forget Rung’s name, like that’s the oddity in the situation rather than his own recollection of that specific assortment of glyphs in that sweet, gentle tone that makes Rung’s optics well up a little behind his glasses at the recognition." Written as a Birthday Gift for my Dear Trinemate~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Feel Like Someone Else

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! I know Emily did~

There’s a point where being invisible grows old, and Rung knew a thing or two about old. He knew civilizations to rise and fall, golden ages to end, he knew mechs and femmes to rise into power and fall like towers in the sand of the world. Rung knew a lot about old, remembered things about old and the weathering test of time that most mechs could only dream about ever knowing given the quote-unquote accident prone nature of the Cybertronian species.

Rung remembered it all. And no one remembered him.

Which, normally, would be fine. Before embarking on this oddly doomed mission Rung had been almost content with his lot in life. He had a professional distance from nigh on everyone, lived on his own with his models who had no brains with which to forget his name.

However, having said name forgotten on a nigh on hourly basis was far more draining than he would truly care to admit. It wore him thin, made him frown more. Were he to analyze himself he’d say he was suffering from a blow to his self esteem, hoping that he was not truly so forgettable.

So his mood suffered after a while, he became more distant, trying to take control of the name situation by separating himself from it which only served to make him more upset over the whole situation. Self-diagnosis truly only leads to more spark-ache and it was quite clear in his field even when he was trying to be professional.

Which was why, during one of their sessions, Fortress Maximus was prompted to ask a question rather than answer them for a change.

“Are you alright, Rung?”

It was that deep, soft and genuinely concerned voice that had the psychiatrist crack under the pressure, a soft, almost watery smile on his face as it completely registers.

“You remembered my name.” And it’s that simple little statement that has Fort Max’s crimson optics go wide and his helm tilt a little to the side. As though he can’t understand how someone could forget Rung’s name, like that’s the oddity in the situation rather than his own recollection of that specific assortment of glyphs in that sweet, gentle tone that makes Rung’s optics well up a little behind his glasses at the recognition.

Rung stood, walking away from his chair to sit beside Fortress Maximus on the couch in his office, just taking a moment to revel in the recognition in the bigger mech’s optics. He let himself get lost in those dark red optics, a smile pulling his features as the moisture gathered in his optics fogs his glasses enough for him to take them off.

And, of course, that’s when poor Fort Max panics a little.

“What’s wrong? A-are you okay? Rung?” There it is again, his name spoken without a second thought and Rung just laughs with joy, placing his servos over one of Fort Max’s giant ones and squeezing gently. The larger mech looked so confused at the reaction, brow knitting with consternation at the smaller bot.

“I’m perfect, Fortress Maximus...I apologize for my outburst.”

“Nono...do you...wanna talk about it?”

And no, Rung did not want to talk about it. Instead, he got on his knees and lifted himself up. Finding that he’s still a little out of reach he stood, bending down to kiss Fort Max on the arch of his cheek, watching the behemoth before him start to blush like a sparkling, helm turning to look at him, biting his lip a little in thought.

And that was when Fort Max leaned up to catch him in a kiss, soft and fluttering over his lips and instantly the bigger mech blushed and scooted away a bit. “I-I’m so-”

“You kissed me,” Rung murmured, a single servo raising to his lips. Oh it was wrong, Fort Max was his patient, and he his doctor but...this...that felt perfect. It felt nice. Like something to be remembered. So Rung, in a moment of complete and utter abandon, sat himself in Fortress Maximus’ lap, smiling up at him and gently nuzzling his chin. “You kissed me and remembered my name.”

“Why wouldn’t I remember your name? You’re….you.” And the fact that it’s that simple to Fort Max made Rung lean up for another kiss. And this time the bigger mech didn’t pull away or shrink off. Instead those large servos gripped his hips gently, held him closer to that massive frame and pressed back into that touch.

And Rung could feel the recognition in that field, the sudden realization that went through Fort Max and he felt his frame being lifted, slow and deep kisses being pressed to his lips as his name is whispered between the spaces there. It made Rung feel important, cherished.

Like someone else entirely.

Because maybe this was what it was to be a Rodimus, desired and the center of attention, or a Tailgate, cooed over and protected, or even a Perceptor, appreciated and focused on. As much as Rung hated to admit it, he craved the feeling, the feeling of being known and desired and wanted.

And here was Fortress Maximus, poor Fort Max who needed a therapist more than he needed a lover holding him up and kissing him and whispering his name like a dying mech. Fortress Maximus who carried more guilt than self-preservation instincts, who told him about his nightmares and the fear he had of hurting anyone again after his break, who was big and warm and gentle with every touch. This mech was kissing him within an inch of his life and murmuring softly and all Rung could do was choke on a whimper and hold on tight.

When they pulled back from that kiss, Rung could see a glint of old self confidence in those red optics, renewed and almost smug at the clear flush on the smaller mech’s face plate. “Rung,” he murmured, soft and low, “I’ll never be able to forget you.”

And those words were like a band snapping in his mind and soon Rung was pressing kisses wherever he could reach, listening to the larger mech gasp and reveling in those servos encompassing his waist, slowly moving so Rung is laid out on the couch and that impressive frame is looming over his own slender one. Only a few kisses in and Rung’s panting, optics dimmed as he watches the other mech contemplate his spindly frame, feeling self conscious all of a sudden.

“You’re so…” Fortress Maximus begins before trailing his lips over his neck and chest, humming into the metal and making Rung squirm. “I’d say cute but…” he trailed off a little, clearly distracted by Rung’s squirming. He actually smiled, the change in his disposition making Rung’s lips part a fraction. He was so handsome when he smiled.

Fortress Maximus, for his part, loved that look on Rung’s face. That wide opticed look of amazement and that flush of heat in his field and on his face. So he continued that meandering pace, along that tiny waist, those hips and legs, feeling Rung squirm every time he said his name, listening to those cooling fans turn on their highest setting as his glossa slid into the join of his hip.

It took Rung a few moments to realize that Max was talking the whole time. “Rung, Rung, Rung,” saying his name like a little mantra, praising his frame and his mind, humming against the thin metal of his thighs and Rung couldn’t stop it when his interface panel snapped open, thighs trembling.

“Wow,” the larger mech murmured, smiling at Rung before leaning up to kiss him again, “let me take care of you for a change.”

And Rung had no chance to respond before those lips were kissing along his spike housing, glossa twirling over his valve and making him gasp, dorsa arching sharply at the feeling, electric zings going through his frame. His servos scrabbled at the couch, legs spreading wider before Fort Max took them to hook them over his shoulders.

It was too much, the psychiatrist squirming and moaning far too loudly, gasping for air. Primus how long had it been since the last time he’d done this? Been on the receiving end of someone’s affection? He tried to moan Fort Max’s name but found his vocalizer choked, only the pleading sounds of pleasure moving through him as that glossa flicked over his anterior node, delving deep into his valve and making him see stars.

“Oh~” he moaned, body arched in a perfect curve as overload started to break over his frame all too quickly, far too fast, making him squirm and pant and cry out, thanking Primus for the sound proof walls of his office. Electricity broke over his frame, and he could hear his lover moan into his components as lubricant dripped over his glossa.

He relaxed back, watching Fort Max pull away and lick his lips, heat rising from that giant frame as he reigned in his own desire. But that’s not what Rung wanted.

“Maximus…” his voice still had a tinge of a moan in it and Maximus smiled softly.

“We’re not done yet, Rung,” he murmured, kissing him gently to share the taste of him, “just let me take my time.”

And Rung decided, in that moment, there was no one else he’d rather be.


End file.
